Satish Verma, 31 december 2023
When you plan to quit,
the ghost limb will slash the wrist
to swallow pride.
I do not want to
call you my yesterday. Past
takes revenge.
Nemesis comes
to play its role. Divine
punishment for me.
Satish Verma, 30 december 2023
Your absence
creates an aura. The
concealed hurt.
Today when the sun
of longest day goes down,
the night will wait.
To buckle under
the titanic grief of
sea, not sinking me.
Satish Verma, 29 december 2023
Longing to sit on
your pink lips, a butterfly
wants to say goodbye.
Bloodletting was
a big mistake. Only
white shroud imprints.
You had passed
through my body leaving
footmarks in eyes.
Satish Verma, 28 december 2023
You wished a
talented end. When you
denied me, where
Was the wrong moon?
Like nightbird you birthed
an astral poem.
Plunged in bone―
deep, an arrow ejects a
rose from belly button.
Satish Verma, 27 december 2023
I am not a paragon.
Everyday I will repeat
some hymns to myself.
Sometimes the
truth becomes transgender.
From god to goddess.
Grace and courtesy.
The moon anchors a smile.
Tears roll silently.
Satish Verma, 26 december 2023
Strawberry moon
descends. Words wait for
your hubris. The lake
Never arrives,
doubting the color of
rising sun. I get
My gift of sacred
punishment to solve the
love's chemistry.
Satish Verma, 23 december 2023
Give me pain of
your pain in summer moon,
not to miss the blues
Of valleys.
God to God a scream devastates
some anagrams.
Tonight I will sit
under stars to cool
the sadness of tears.
Satish Verma, 22 december 2023
Give me pain of
your pain in summer moon,
not to miss the blues
Of valleys.
God to God a scream devastates
some anagrams.
Tonight I will sit
under stars to cool
the sadness of tears.
Satish Verma, 21 december 2023
I ask you, to be my
rage. Unwavering in
the timelessness.
No more I was
protagonist. New moon
will sit on my eyes.
Bare foot I walk
towards the burning pyre, to
see the ascent of ashes.
Satish Verma, 20 december 2023
It comes nearer
and nearer every night,
the face, like fog.
A cult of moon
spills the milk on the pink lips.
Salt and the honey.
Before fated
kiss of death, you pluck,
roses from eyes.
Satish Verma, 19 december 2023
Body was culture
at blue heights. Frozen
till my candle lights.
I fumble in dark
to remain human. No one
would be godfather.
Give back my pain.
Unwrap my bones. The blood
should be drying up.
Satish Verma, 17 december 2023
Today the sun
will rise without you in pain of
two stars kissing.
A brief pause
between the hiccups. Poem
was incomplete.
How would I say
you goodbye facing the dark
burningmoon?
Satish Verma, 16 december 2023
You should not
have done this? Trespassing
the virginity of the
olive branch and the ashes.
I will borrow the
words to clean blood
in your eyes. A lovely
jasmine will sit on your lips.
The death holds its
own mercy between good
and bad. Any fondling
of moon was a bliss.
Where will dysplasia
go, after giving an unbearable
loss? You cannot roll the
carpet after the blaze.
The tangerines will give
a big surprise.
Satish Verma, 15 december 2023
To become insane,
I think. I miss the ruptured
wounds.
I ask myself,
was it true, you
were painting water body?
Somebody was
laughing after the funeral
of raped truth.
The bells go
without sound. I hold
my trembling hands.
The door knob was
broken. I cannot open the
portal of dreams.
A lone swan treads
softly on the smashed mirror
to reach the lake.
Satish Verma, 14 december 2023
Living without you
was like a kite, flying
alone in blue sky.
Like a downy mildew
climbs the damp poems.
Letters tremble.
Wearing all red, frills
a setting sun, was
smiling in deep sleep,
tears swiping the dry lips.
Maybe, you wanted
to set me free from
tarantula's web.
Going there
where moon weeps.
I will search the rock.
Satish Verma, 12 december 2023
Simple hearted priest
asks me to stay dead. The mystery
of living in the eyes of God is unveiled.
One day words would stop.
Then you find the killer was killed and the
suffering of living would exist ever.
The point of observation
has no observer. The mode of revert
living gives you eternal peace.
Satish Verma, 11 december 2023
You were eating
out from our hands.
O God, we are hungry.
Sometimes I collapse
in on myself, to achieve
the quietus. Even moonlight
won't escape from me.
I collect the ashes
falling from your
golden locks. Was it the death's
pride?
The moon fattens
to receive the lost crown
of sleeping queen.
The shadow falls
at your feet. You become
taller than me.
Satish Verma, 10 december 2023
Why your lips
quiver, kissing a rose
before sunrise.
A serious question
seeks a simple answer.
Why did you live
inside me?
I don't believe in
myself. I will go
with the moon.
Just wanted to
know, how do we
die in sleep, when
body curls like a snake
to shed the skin.
I look at the world
pass by. None was
my grain.
Andrzej Talarek, 9 december 2023
Biblia Tysiąclecia: Zagadka powodzenia bezbożnych
Jan Kochanowski: Słuchaj, co żywo, wszytki ziemskie kraje
Kto chce dziś słuchać, że warto być biednym,
niech słucha. Choćby swoim uchem jednym.
Niech też słuchają ci, którzy pieniądze
nad wszystko mają, a za nie swe żądze.
Czy tu mądrością zabłysnę dziś, nie wiem.
Czy roztropności z serca dam zarzewie?
Jednak los ludzki, szczęśliwy czy smutny,
zderzę ze sobą w sposób dość okrutny.
Żył biedny człowiek, żył też i bogaty.
Bogacz pieszczoty, biedny dostał baty,
jeden od losu, a drugi od Boga.
Taka przez życia była obu droga.
Pomyślał biedny: no i cóż, że razy?
Pójdę do nieba, nie wezmę urazy.
Pomyślał bogacz: ale go złoiłem
i tyle złota na nim zarobiłem.
Pomyślał biedny: warto żyć uczciwie,
Bóg mnie nagrodzi w niebie sprawiedliwie.
Bogaty w złoto dni swoje obtoczył,
w końcu świątynię zbudował i spoczął.
Żył też poeta tak mądry, jak biedny.
Dla Boga pisał wciąż poemat rzewny.
Myślał: cóż złoto, za grobem nie działa.
I umarł z głodu, poezja została.
Żył wreszcie mądry, co nie chciał biedować.
Wołał w mądrości swej nowe budować.
Sam się dorobił i biednym dał pracę.
Za to i Bóg mu, i ludzie zapłacą.
Wszyscy widzimy: mędrcy umierają,
głupcy, prostacy, wszystko zostawiają,
co dorobili. Z Bogiem, czy bez Boga.
Na koniec tylko mniejsza, większa trwoga.
Nikt też sam siebie od śmierci nie kupi.
Nawet świątynią. Jeśli nie jest głupi,
wcześniej pojedna się z Bogiem w swej drodze,
złoto zostawi, wziąć go wszak nie może.
Jednak zostaje coś po nas na ziemi:
życzliwe słowo, które nawet niemi
o nas wyszepczą, albo przekleństw wiele
nad złotem, choćby zostało w kościele.
Nie nam rozstrzygać, co będzie za grobem.
Czy nierób wygra niebo z groszorobem?
Czy dobre słowa u Boga przeważą -
choć on wie wszystko - i winy nam zmażą?
Czy do Szeolu bogatych Bóg wygna
jak stado owiec, z dala od poidła,
którym jest źródło Boga obecności
i tam na zawsze bogaty zagości?
Tego nikt nie wie. Na próżno prosimy
o zły los dla tych, których nie lubimy.
I potępienie im prorokujemy.
To tylko Bóg wie. Na tym przestajemy.
Satish Verma, 9 december 2023
I don't recognize
you, after giving
a pause to poem.
It was an eerie
accident. I don't own
my body, and you don't
own your tears.
With solemnity, I
place my book, on the road
going nowhere. To be
read by the sun.
You buy the words
I sell the silence.
The hyphens wail.
Cost rises.
Satish Verma, 8 december 2023
How I loved you
green, in hot summer
noon, when you
Were not mine.
Sky scented with nostalgia
talks to gypsy moon.
Each star becomes
a wound. The winged thoughts
fly like monarchs.
Satish Verma, 7 december 2023
Time to think.
You bring handwritten
testament with mistakes.
I exist because
you were there. Between
sun and moon, there
was no controversy.
I was knitting
my life near hornets nest.
Words betray the anguish,
giving credit to hemlock.
Disempowered
in shadows, I become
my own rival to fight
green snakes.
In sleepwalking
you discover the blind
walls. All blood-stained skulls
start rolling.
Satish Verma, 6 december 2023
Time to think.
You bring handwritten
testament with mistakes.
I exist because
you were there. Between
sun and moon, there
was no controversy.
I was knitting
my life near hornets nest.
Words betray the anguish,
giving credit to hemlock.
Disempowered
in shadows, I become
my own rival to fight
green snakes.
In sleepwalking
you discover the blind
walls. All blood-stained skulls
start rolling.
Satish Verma, 5 december 2023
Alter ego,
you were my broken
mirror.
From where do we start
watching crescent moon?
Where the poet
will go in search of ink,
to reshape the words of solace,
living out of truth?
O, incredible! Your
maiden steps had faulted
to reach the vanity
of glittering heights.
How will you fill in
the blanks, blindfolded?
Sun had already gone down.
Satish Verma, 4 december 2023
I wanted to talk
in between words. The sage
has lost aroma.
Of unknown gifts.
Kitchen would answer for
all the bonfires.
Conceive the truth
of mirror. I will reflect
in your opal eyes.
Satish Verma, 3 december 2023
I don't seek the
renunciation. It were
you to turn divine.
What you would not
tell my tale of abdication
in pain of the birth?
You are shrinking
at blanks between tears.
Only the steps bleed.
steve, 2 december 2023
How do you know, of the pain in my soul...
Were you there when I cried for you?
You've never been there to show me you care,
But you say you love me too,
"Do you think you can save me", from what I've become,
Do you despise what you see?
Is the truth hard to hear, do you live with the fear,
That you've become just like me,
And though I've been told, my heart can be cold,
I only know what I see,
That life can be cruel, and I'm just a fool,
for believing that you could love me.
Anuraag Sharma, 2 december 2023
There is a there
where you are;
here is a here when
let me go then
I and I...
Unlashed slits unlatched
grow hands, finger-tips
to sense your presence
propinquitious.
Little bowris* on sides both
grow legs stepping down to the doormat
some footsteps shuffle and ripple
watery silence of the corridors.
The back of my palms
perforated with needled eyes
with doctor’s tape apertured
pain looks through and beyond.
A bottle of glucose
oozes in liquid hope
to metamorphose a here’s when
to a there’s then.
Then, green aprons flutter,
come to collect a withered leaf
to graft in the purgatory
(they call it OT).
Where are you, my acorn?
A condensed drop of flight is
flushed into at the bottom of my spine —
the mint-mermaid singing
on the shores of the unknown and dancing
all wheres and whens away...
* A word from local dialect, meaning ‘little ponds’.
Satish Verma, 2 december 2023
In love with me.
To be with you. Eyesight
gets dim in twilight.
One day you had
moved away unsettling
the planets and stars.
Listen, we human
beings, come near each
other, then god fails.
Satish Verma, 1 december 2023
Looking at the
moon will hurt you bitter―
sweet one day.
At night. Tinged with
pink ache in eyes of the
collapsed soul.
Don't pursue flesh,
of the had been goddess
to avenge me.
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